Castaway
by deagh
Summary: Isabela sails the Waking Sea to escape the Blight.  On a routine resupply stop on a small uncharted island, she finds a castaway...


**A/N: This is the result of a plot bunny that just would not leave me alone until I threw it a carrot. (Now maybe I can get back to work on "Ferelden's Most Eligible Bachelor"!) Many thanks to JayRain for listening to me babble at her and providing feeback, and thanks to MsBarrows for her help with names.**

* * *

><p>"Land, Ho!" came the call from the crow's nest. Isabela frowned and turned to her charts. There wasn't supposed to be any land here, but charts had been known to be wrong. "Report, Boy," said as the lookout's feet hit the deck.<p>

"Island on the horizon, Cap'n. Can't be that big, but there's clouds and gulls and a bit o' green that I could see," he said.

Isabela pondered for a moment. If there was green, that meant fresh water, something that was always useful. They might also be able to get some fresh provisions, which would be a welcome change from the salted meat and hardtack.

"Thank you, Boy. If this land proves useful you'll get a bonus. Now, shimmy back up there and guide us in," Isabela said.

"Aye aye, Cap'n!" the boy said, turning to climb the mast even as he did so.

The little island wasn't much, just a few square miles of land, so she could see why the charts had missed it. There was quite a bit of vegetation, though, so it obviously had a source of fresh water, though, and it even boasted a small cove. She would definitely be able to re-provision the Siren's Call. Good thing, too, she was avoiding port at the moment – The Blight was a thing to be avoided at all costs, especially since, last she heard, it was still just the two Grey Wardens in Ferelden. She smiled fondly at the memory of the evening she'd passed with the two of them, then turned her mind back to business.

"Assemble a shore party, Ryan," she ordered her first mate.

"Aye, Cap'n.

* * *

><p>They pulled the longboat up onto the beach and looked around.<p>

"Well, we're not the first ones to find this place," Isabela said to no one in particular.

"Aye," said Davis, one of the gunners. "Sign of a camp here – old, though," he said.

"Well, whoever it is may have been picked up, or long dead, or watching us from cover in there. Let's go find out which, shall we?" Isabela said.

They were exploring the wooded area at the center of the island when they found him – or he found them, rather. The man dropped from a low branch, landing a few paces in front of them. He crouched defensively, spear at the ready. Isabela held up a hand to her crew and showed the man her other hand, palm out.

"Easy now. We mean no harm," she said, looking the man over. He had been here some time, she guessed. His grey hair and weather-beaten features marked him as middle aged, although he could be anywhere from 40 to 60. His clothing was not much more than rags and his hair and beard were long and scraggly, so he'd been on the island some time. He was relatively clean, though, which was more than she could say for some of her crew.

The man straightened and regarded them warily, although he kept his spear ready to hand.

"That remains to be seen, but I'll accept that for now. Who are you and why are you here?" he asked, a note of command in his tone, even though his voice was rusty from disuse. She raised an eyebrow, but answered the question.

"I am Isabela, captain of the Siren's Call. We saw this land on the horizon and decided to investigate. We have been at sea for some time and could use provisions," she said.

"Fair enough," the man said. I am…" he said, then paused, brow furrowed. "I'm not really sure what my name is. I remember being on a ship, and a storm, and I remember washing up on the beach with a bleeding head," he said, pointing at the scar that ran down the side of his face from temple to jawline. "The rest of it is a bit fuzzy," he admitted.

"Well, we'll have to call you something," Isabela said. A flash of movement in the trees caught her eye. "That's a martin," she said, pointing at the bird she'd spotted. "How about we call you that?"

The man considered a moment, and then nodded. "It's as good a name as any," he said.

"Well, then, a pleasure to meet you, Martin. Would you be willing to be our guide? We do need provisions, although we're happy to hunt and gather for ourselves," Isabela said.

"I can do that. Would you be willing to transport me back to civilization?" he asked.

"I think that could be arranged, although you might want to reconsider that. There's a Blight on in Ferelden, you know," she said.

"A Blight? Huh. I never thought I would live to see that. How is the king handling it?" he asked.

"Well, they don't actually have a king right now. King Cailan died without an heir about a year ago, but the queen and her father – Logan or something – seem to be handling things fine. Ferelden is still not a good place to be right now, though. Darkspawn everywhere." Isabela said.

Martin looked down and swallowed at her news, which made Isabela feel some sympathy for the man. His accent marked him as Ferelden, and it couldn't be easy to hear that your homeland was being destroyed by a Blight. The Blight bothered her, and Ferelden wasn't even her home. He finally looked up and answered her. "Even so, I would like to get off this island. I have been able to scrape a living, but it has been…lonely. If you will have me, I will come with you when you go," he said.

"We do rescue castaways, although if you give us any trouble we will not hesitate to put you off the ship, even if we're at sea," Isabela said.

"Fair enough. I will endeavor to be useful," Martin said.

They spent a few days salting meat and filling water casks, a task at which Martin was indeed useful. He knew which plants were edible and where the game could be hunted. There was no large game on the island, birds and rabbits and small rodents were all there was to be found, but even so, the fresh meat was a welcome change. She spent her time getting to know her newest erstwhile crew member. She had a feeling his past wasn't entirely 'fuzzy' to him, but Maker knew they all had their secrets, so she didn't press too hard. He looked familiar somehow, although she couldn't place the feeling. He looked even more familiar – and more handsome – after she'd trimmed his hair and beard for him. Well, she'd known more than her share of handsome men in her day, it was likely that he looked like one of them. He was certainly handsome enough that she'd made it clear that he'd be welcome in her bed, but he gently rebuffed her, telling her that he might "have a wife and children, or even grandchildren" somewhere, and it just wouldn't be right. The look of sadness and longing on his face as he said it led her to believe he knew exactly what he'd left behind, but he was so gentlemanly about it that she just let it lie. Whoever she was, Isabela hoped she had waited for him – he'd been on the island for several years, at least. He seemed in no hurry to return to whatever it was he'd left, though, so perhaps it didn't matter.

Once they cast off Martin proved a rather inept sailor, although he was willing to try his hand at any task. Years of feeding himself on the island had made him a fair cook, though, so Isabela put him to work in the galley. He proved capable of turning out slightly better fare than the standard Ferelden grey 'stew' that seemed endemic to the country, so she left him to it.

She learned more about Martin as they sailed the Waking Sea. He was more than willing to talk to her, but he was good at talking without actually saying much of anything about himself. She was an expert at drawing people out, though, so he did let a few things slip. He'd fought in the war during the Orlesian occupation of Ferelden, and he was used to giving orders – she could tell that from the way he talked to the ship's scullion. She was guessing he'd been a knight or a petty noble in his previous life, which made her wonder why he seemed less than eager to go back to that life. He kept his mouth firmly closed on that subject, though, so she resigned herself to wondering.

* * *

><p>A few months after they'd picked up Martin Isabela found herself near Kirkwall. She decided that they'd put in at the City of Chains. They were low on supplies again, and she'd be happy to get some shore leave, as well. She loved the Siren's Call, but she was feeling the lack of…companionship. She made it a strict policy to not fraternize with her crew, which made even Martin off limits. That was a real shame, too. If anything, the man had gotten more handsome in the two months he'd been with the crew. Regular meals had put some meat back on his frame and his work in the galley had ensured that he stayed lean and muscular. He had probably been criminally handsome in his prime, and even now, he was easy on the eye. The scar on his jawline made him better looking, if anything; it lent him a rakish air. If he weren't a crewman she'd have tied him up and had her way with him long before, his protests notwithstanding. She could be <em>very<em> persuasive, if she cared to be.

As if thinking of him summoned him, Martin appeared at her side "Captain, a word?" he said.

"Yes, Martin?"

"I…thank you for rescuing me," he said.

"I sense a 'but' in there," Isabela said.

"We're near Kirkwall. Will we be putting in? I think it is time for me to leave this ship. Assuming you're still giving me a share in the take for the last two months, I should have enough to make my way until I can find something," he said.

"I see. Has your memory returned?" she asked.

"Some," he said, although his eyes shifted as he said it. He really was a poor liar.

"Look, Martin, or whatever your name is, it's none of my business, but if you don't have anywhere to go, you're welcome to stay on with the crew. You're a good cook," she said.

"Thank you, Captain, but I do have a destination in mind," he said.

"Oh?" she said, looking at him expectantly. He looked back, an impassive expression on his face.

"Fine, be that way, then. I'll let you off when we put into Kirkwall, and yes, you'll get a share," Isabela said.

"Thank you, Captain," was all he said.

* * *

><p>"Well, Martin, I heard some news when I was ashore that might change your mind about your destination," Isabela said as she stepped into the galley.<p>

Martin turned from the stove and raised an eyebrow. "Oh?" he asked.

"Well, the scuttlebutt is that the Blight is over and Ferelden has a new king," she said, pleased to see a flicker of interest in his eyes.

"Do tell," was all he said.

"The Grey Wardens killed the Archdemon, and it seems that the old king dallied with some serving girl somewhere along the way, and they managed to dig up the bastard. Long live King Alistair!" Isabela exclaimed. She still found it strange that that strapping young Grey Warden she'd met at the Pearl was the King of Ferelden now. Wasn't every girl that could claim that she'd bedded a king.

"King Alistair?" Martin asked, the surprise evident in his voice.

"Yes, you could go back to Ferelden if you wanted, now that the Blight is over," Isabela said.

"Yes, I could," Martin answered, noncommittally.

"Fine, keep your secrets," Isabela huffed.

"I'll do that," he answered back, a smile quirking his lips. Insufferable man, Isabela thought. At least he did look at her chest when she'd huffed at him. There was some hope for him yet.

It took a few days to sell off their cargo, but finally the time came for Martin to leave the ship. He'd managed to gather a reasonable kit in his time with them, mostly castoffs from the sailors who had jumped ship, one way or another, so he was fairly well prepared for…wherever it was that he was going.

"You be careful, you hear? I didn't rescue you from that island just to have you get yourself killed in Darktown," Isabela said.

"Oh, I won't be staying in Kirkwall," Martin said.

"Maker's Breath, he let something slip!" Isabela exclaimed, which made Martin chuckle.

"I'm heading northwest, to warmer climes. These old bones could use a break from the cold," he said.

"Well, don't go too far or you'll end up in the Anderfels. You take care of yourself; you've been a good crewman," Isabela said.

"I will, and thank you again, Captain. I thought I'd be spending the rest of my days on that island," he said, and turned to walk down the gangplank. As his boots hit the dock he turned and waved, and déjà vu swept over Isabela. She shook it off and walked to her cabin. She had a lead on a new cargo from her Kirkwall contact Castillon – hopefully it would prove lucrative.


End file.
